


cyrus and the boy next door

by paranoidandroids



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cyrus POV, Gay Disaster Cyrus Goodman, M/M, Tyrus - Freeform, also mentions of serial killers i guess?, alternate title: Cyrus Goes For A Run, cyrus is a mess but he's doin his best, it's fluffy i promise, it's not that important, mentions of weed, not sponsored by taco bell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 08:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20239726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoidandroids/pseuds/paranoidandroids
Summary: Cyrus has afewembarrassing run-ins with his neighbor.





	cyrus and the boy next door

Cyrus is very stressed out.

It's finals week and he's behind on studying for two classes, there's a digital mountain of unfinished internship applications clogging his hard drive, and his mother will not stop calling him about coming home at _least_ once this semester for dinner.

"The moment I'm done with finals, I _promise_ I'll come home." Cyrus shifts his phone between hands. "Okay. Love you too, Mom. Bye."

He hangs up and launches himself onto his bed.

Buffy, who lives in the room next to Cyrus's, opens her door and rushes down the hall. "Everything okay?" she asks. "I heard you launch yourself onto your bed again."

"Stressed," Cyrus muffles into the duvet. "Very stressed." He adjusts and stares at Buffy leaning against the doorframe. She's perceptive and motherly and Cyrus feels undeserving. "I need a pick-me-up."

"I usually go for a run" --she stops when Cyrus groans dramatically-- "okay, I should've known. What about a milkshake?"

A milkshake. The elixir to all of Cyrus's bad days. But on second thought, a run might not be so bad. Sure, Cyrus hasn't actually done any running since high school P.E.--or since they gave out free tater tots for freshmen in the quad last fall, if his dramatic flailing across campus counts as running--but running _should_ help his stress, even if temporarily. Buffy goes for a run nearly every day and she's breezing through life. Endorphins or whatever, right?

"You know what, Buffy?"

"What?"

"I think I'll go for a run."

\---

This is the worst decision Cyrus has ever made.

He made the mistake of wearing a heather gray shirt, which, to his horror, is now soaked through with sweat. He has run approximately three blocks and is somewhat proud that he is able to run without stopping until his apartment complex is at least nominally out of view. Now, he thinks, is a good time to turn around and go home.

He stops to pick up dinner at the corner, and orders what equates to an embarrassing amount of food for just one person. Not that it isn't for just one person or anything. He's stressed, and he just went for a run. He deserves it.

Finally back at the apartment complex, he climbs the stairs to the third floor, fumbling distractedly with the tiny zippered pocket on his athletic shorts that is hiding his key. Why did they make this zipper so hard to open? If he were being chased he would be dead by now. He would've been able to outrun his killer, only to be forced by a faulty zipper to meet his shrieking bloody demise right in front of his apartment.

In his distraction he rams straight into another person as he rounds the corner right outside his door. _Oh my god. It's my killer,_ he thinks for a split second.

And this guy does kind of look like he very well may be able to kill somebody. He's tall with gelled hair and intimidating eyes and an intense scowl. He's wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. It's a Queen T-shirt, emblazoned with their signature crest-like insignia, the one with the lions and the dragon and the fairies--so, okay, maybe this guy isn't a serial killer. People don't cut up bodies singing along to Freddie Mercury. Do they?

"Sorry," the guy says, "are you okay? I wasn't looking."

"Yeah," Cyrus replies. He's distracted now, because this might-be-a-serial-killer guy is distractingly cute. "Are you? I'm sorry. I should've been paying attention."

Probably-not-a-serial-killer guy waves it off casually. "I'm fine." He straightens up, outstretches a hand. "TJ, by the way. I don't think we've met."

"Cyrus." They shake hands.

"I live on this floor," he adds. Then he smiles, and Cyrus briefly thinks that this guy is definitely not a serial killer. "I've seen you around. With the basketball girl."

"Buffy," Cyrus fills in. "We're roommates. We go to the college down the street."

"Yeah. Yeah, me too."

"You know Buffy from basketball?"

"Yeah. She coaches us sometimes. I'm on the men's team."

"Oh! Oh, cool. Super cool."

"She never mentioned that she had another roommate," TJ adds, awkwardly. "I've only met the artist."

"Andi," Cyrus says.

"Yeah," TJ confirms. He laughs. "I'm bad with names."

"Cool," Cyrus says again. "Very cool." Oh, great, this is happening. Cyrus's inability to perform small talk. It's only a matter of time before he starts rambling, or accidentally brings up one of TJ's bad childhood memories, or replies "you, too!" at a completely inapplicable moment.

"So, uh, what's in the bag?" TJ asks, relieving the silence--though he's not entirely great at this small talk thing either.

"Oh, it's, you know. Just dinner." Cyrus laughs, displaying the too-large-for-one-person brown bag in his hand. "Taco Bell."

"Nutritious."

"I don't always eat like this." A beat. "You know. Not kosher."

_Ah,_ TJ nods.

"Anyway." Cyrus laughs nervously again, gesturing to his apartment door. "See you around. Maybe."

"Yeah. See you around, Cyrus."

TJ smiles--well, he's been smiling the entire time, but this one's more perfunctory--and Cyrus laughs flimsily as he struggles with his key, then barrels into the apartment, closing the door quickly behind him.

"Oh my god," Cyrus gasps, wincing audibly.

Buffy turns around from her spot on the couch and springs to her feet when she sees Cyrus at the door. "Cyrus? Are you okay?" she asks with mounting concern. "Dude, your shirt is _drenched_ in sweat."

"No, no, I'm fine. Sit down," Cyrus says. He rubs his temples with his free hand. "I just ran into some cute guy who lives down the hall from here. Like literally _ran into_ him. And, in true Cyrus fashion, sorely embarrassed myself."

"Oh, come on," Buffy assures him. "I'm sure you were fine."

"I told him I was kosher. Why did I say that? Why did I think I needed to say that?"

Buffy can't help but laugh. "Charming." They sit at the kitchen table; Cyrus tosses her one of the many nondescriptly wrapped items from his bag. "So, do you think he was interested?"

"Bold of you to assume I can tell if a guy is into me."

Buffy hums in agreement; Cyrus shoots her a look. "Besides," he continues, ignoring her, "it's finals week. I don't need any more distractions than I already have."

"Fair enough," Buffy accepts. "Only you know what's best for you."

"Thank you."

They eat in silence for a while.

"But I wonder what he thought of m--"

"Cyrus."

\---

Cyrus doesn't leave the apartment once the next day.

In fairness, it's his fault--he procrastinated all semester on his internship applications to help produce videos for ASB elections, and now they've conveniently joined the traffic jam of responsibilities that he's saved for this one final week. He holes himself up in his bedroom uploading cover letters, and Microsoft Word's "find and replace" tool is his new best friend. So is coffee. Lots of coffee.

After the sun sets, Buffy and Andi knock on his door.

"Cyrus, come out!"

"I already did," he replies sarcastically.

His door swings open, and the two girls walk in, flanking him at his desk chair. Ever the conspirators, these two. Cyrus smells a plan before they've even breathed.

"You haven't left your room all day," Andi says. "Come on, we're hungry."

Cyrus types on mindlessly, not breaking eye contact with his laptop screen. "So eat then."

"Come with us!"

"I'm busy. Applications. Deadlines."

"You've been working all day."

"I know. Applications. Deadlines."

"Besides, you need to eat."

"You're still a growing boy," Buffy adds, for good measure. Why? Why did they still use this on him? He's almost nineteen, and he outgrew them both years ago.

He stops typing, eyes still fixated on the screen. "I have a feeling you won't stop bothering me until I go," he says. "Am I right?"

Instead of responding, the girls leave. Cyrus tears away from his laptop, finally, confused.

"Guys?"

He sighs, conflicted between enduring this agonizing caffeine high while sitting still or while walking through town finding something to eat. Easily, the obvious choice is the latter, so he presses "Save" five times, closes his laptop, and changes into the first clean-smelling T-shirt he sees.

"Do they still have those Doritos tacos at Taco Bell?" Andi asks when Cyrus enters the kitchen.

"Yes? I just ate there last night."

"Great! Let's go!"

"I can't have Taco Bell two nights in a row," Cyrus says, colored with shame. "They might recognize me."

Andi hums. "And if I pay…"

"Fine." Easy enough.

They leave, and Cyrus has never appreciated fresh air more. His skin tingles like he's lived in a bubble his entire life. The caffeine kicks into full gear as they walk, and Cyrus feels his neck prickle with cold sweat and his stomach lurch with coffee munchies.

"I'm so frickin' hungry," he groans as the three of them stand in line.

Buffy nudges him playfully. "That's what you get for only having six cups of coffee all day."

"It was seven, actually."

The staff look at him funny when he asks for half the dollar menu, and he cradles the greasy warm bag like it's his own precious spawn. Cyrus, the lowly earth-father of this tangible manifestation of Mother Fast Food herself. Tangible _and_ edible.

"They definitely think we're high," Buffy giggles as they leave the restaurant.

"I technically am," Cyrus testifies. "Caffeine is considered a drug."

"Your shirt doesn't help," Andi points out, stifling her laughter. It's tie-dyed with the words _Good Vibrations Fest 2019_ in giant, puffy letters.

"It's a school shirt!" Cyrus retorts. "How can people not remember Good Vibes Fest? They had therapy dogs!"

"More importantly," Buffy interjects, "do you think they recognized you from yesterday?"

"Maybe they'll think you're Athlete Cyrus's stoner twin brother."

They return to the apartment building, but just as Cyrus opens the street gate, Andi gasps loudly.

"My wallet!"

Buffy pales. "Oh no."

"I must've left it on the counter at--"

She and Buffy thrust their bags at Cyrus and run off. He panics slightly as they charge down the street, balancing the bags precariously in his arms.

"Guys!"

"This requires running, Cyrus!" Buffy yells.

This has happened before, and always at this iron gate--Andi remembering something she forgot and reacting like her continuing existence in this world depends on retrieving it, and then her and Buffy dashing off to wherever it might be. Cyrus is happy to play the role he's assigned in this scenario, which is going upstairs to their apartment and watching TV on the couch until he has to let them in.

He closes the gate and climbs the stairs carefully, his vision field comically impaired by the number of bags in his hands. He laments the fact that his last clean shirt will now smell like tortillas and mystery ground beef seasoning, but this is his fixation only for so long.

When he looks up, TJ is coming down the stairs.

Cyrus notices him first. _Oh, god._ TJ is taking out the trash. Being an upstanding, recycling member of society while Cyrus is mentally hyping himself up to eat four chicken quesadillas. He steels himself.

"Hi again," he says, breaking the silence before TJ has to.

TJ stops and looks up, pauses mid-step. His T-shirt has sleeves this time, and some obscure 80s band logo on the front. He greets Cyrus with a smile, his eyes alight. "You know, there are other restaurants on this block."

"What--oh, yeah," Cyrus laughs, gesturing to his stupid greasy brown bags again. "But this works in a pinch when the munchies kick in."

"You wouldn't have struck me as the type," TJ teases.

"What?" Realization quickly dawns on Cyrus. "Oh, god, no! I didn't mean it like that. I don't-- well, I don't have a _problem_ with it, or with people who do, just to be clear--"

"I'm kidding," TJ reassures him, flashing a grin. "Sorry."

"Oh, no, it's totally fine. It's fine."

"I like your shirt. I hope they bring the dogs again next year."

"Ha-ha, yeah," Cyrus laughs, but it comes out more like vomit, much too loud and uncontrolled.

TJ laughs, too, but it's sweet and unobtrusive. His expression is soft and kind and not serial killer-like, and Cyrus wonders why he'd originally thought that. Not that he's any less confused about this guy or anything.

Cyrus is _very_ confused.

"Anyway," TJ says, starting down the stairs again. "See you around." He taps Cyrus on the shoulder as he passes, and there's his unwavering smile again, just like last night. Cyrus's gaze follows him all the way to the bottom of the stairwell. "Enjoy your meal!" he calls out from the bottom, walking away.

"You too! --I mean--yeah," Cyrus stammers, and he sprints the rest of the way up.

\---

"So, Cyrus."

Cyrus looks up, tearing away from his third quesadilla like Buffy has just interrupted a private moment of intimacy. The trio sit around their kitchen table, eating in the silence of visceral hunger, but Buffy looks desperately curious, and Cyrus thinks he knows what about.

"Yes, Buffy?"

"You never finished telling me about that guy you ran into yesterday." At this, Cyrus rolls his eyes, unsurprised. Andi looks up, curious, so Buffy explains. "Cyrus is in love with one of our neighbors."

"Awww, Cyrus."

"I am _not_ in love!" Cyrus protests. "My interest is just… piqued. But--he's too intimidating. Scary. Looks like a serial killer. Not my type. Anyway, Andi, how's the art show coming a--"

Andi raises a hand to interrupt. "Nice try. So, are you going to get his number or what?"

"Not you too," Cyrus groans.

"Come on, Cyrus! It's 2019. Shoot your shot, or whatever they say. _YOLO."_

_"Please_ never say 'yolo' unironically again. Or ironically, even. Just leave it in the ditch where it was buried in 2011."

"You get what I mean."

"Are we really going to do this, Andi? Right in front of my quesadillas?"

"Come on," she presses, "at least get to know him. It wouldn't hurt. Besides, when's the last time you were actually interested in a guy?"

Cyrus has to think for more than five seconds, proving her point.

"You've said it before yourself." Here comes Buffy with the receipts. "Dancing with danger _is_ on your bucket list."

Cyrus is too full to reach any sort of apex of mental clarity, but if anything is obvious it's that the girls are probably right. In fact, Buffy _is_ right about Cyrus saying that phrase--even though context is key, and he had said it right before eating a package of supermarket sushi that had sat out overnight. But the overarching theme is clear: Cyrus will always be as scared as he is curious enough to take risks. Why not just let the two coexist?

"Fine," Cyrus exhales. "I guess you're right."

Buffy and Andi beam, and Cyrus lets them keep the win.

**Author's Note:**

> full disclosure, this fic was conceived while i was eating taco bell for dinner last week.  
it was originally a oneshot but it just kind of... spiraled out of control... so part 2 coming soon?????
> 
> not beta'd so i apologize for any grammar fails!
> 
> let me know what you think i love you all @[kippenmittens](http://kippenmittens.tumblr.com/)


End file.
